


The Hunt

by Rubien



Series: The Thrill of the Hunt [2]
Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: Bad Flirting, Dorks in Love, Elliott is a mess, Guilt, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Shame, Stuttering
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-31 18:08:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17854592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rubien/pseuds/Rubien
Summary: After the (shameful) defeat of Mirage's team, it was only a matter of time before he would meet Bloodhound outside the arena.





	The Hunt

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, I started to write this few days ago and unfortunately, my working schedule doesn't allow me to re-read the story so I'm putting it in here in rough!  
> Another thing is, even though I try, there might be some difference with this fic and the game's lore. In case there is, I apologize.  
> I still hope you guys will enjoy this and will have fun reading it and if you do, please leave a comment and kudos!

It isn’t a surprise that after that horrible loss at the hands of Bloodhound, they win the win. Mirage feels somehow amazed and humiliated at the same. What makes him feel slightly better is the fact that his team wasn’t the only one who got single-handedly defeated by them.

When Bloodhound is announced a victor, Elliott can feel the shame hanging in the air as he and the others are waiting for everyone to finish - Bloodhound has been on their own for most of the whole game, stalking their prey from afar until the perfect opportunity stroke.

Elliott can feel his lips twisting as he sees Gibraltar coming over to them, joyful as he always is, congratulating the hunter for the win. There’s a bitter taste in his mouth. The trickster ignores the warm feeling lowly spreading through his belly as he remembers the kind words Bloodhound told him just before they finished him off.

"Elliott," a soft, feminine voice comes from Elliott’s side, with certain amount of pressure in it, indicating this is not the first time she spoke at him.

He turns around. Wraith is staring at him with white eyes, slightly frowning.

"Y-Yeah?" he asks.

"I said it must’ve been rough," Wraith repeats. "Having your whole squad eliminated by only one person."

Elliott tries to snort but it comes out more like a shriek, not amused at all.

She keeps her expression neutral but Elliott can see the slight twist of the corner of her lips. 

"Don’t worry," she tells him. "We’ve all been there."

Elliott feels hotness in his cheeks and ears. He knows that Wraith cares for him and wants to make him feel better but the humiliation of the last battle is still fresh on his mind (among with something else, something warm).

Later, he’ll probably be able to joke about it - at least to Pathfinder and Wraith but not right now. He still feels sore. And not in the good way.

"Do you want to go to a bar?" Wraith asks, her voice quiet, as it always is.

"Nope, I think I’m gonna call it a night for today!" Elliott says joyfully.

She raises her eyebrows. "It’s 6pm. Elliott."

"Yep, and I’m tired as hell," he tells her already heading outside of the locker room. Wraith, thankfully, doesn’t follow him but Elliott still feels her look, digging into his back. He doesn’t look over his shoulder.

If _ he _ was the victor, there would be interviews and other congratulations. Even before Elliott leaves the Apex Center, he hears the people around him saying how Bloodhound refuses to take any interviews. Elliott doesn’t know why but it makes him angry. What a wasted victory. Why would they even bother winning when they didn’t want everything that comes with the victory?

He sighs - he knows, or at least the small logical part of his brain, knows that Bloodhound is a quiet individual, at least from what Elliott's heard about them. Nobody really knows why they play the games but they do want to win. And what they do after that is completely their thing.

Elliott makes it to the city. At first he heads into his apartment but then his communicator starts to ring. He takes a look at it and immediately feels his stomach drop. He knows his mother watches all of his games and he knows after each one of them, she calls him. However, he prefers it more when he wins as she sounds so proud and happy for him. When he loses, she is trying to sound the same but Elliott can still hears the worry in her voice and it makes him feel guilty for leaving her.

He remembers the blade sliding between his ribs as easily as hot knife to the butter, the warm fingers on the back of his neck and soft words spoken into his ear, and his whole body shivers. To his own surprise, and terror, the shiver doesn’t feel completely bad.

Then he thinks about how his mother must have seen it too and guilt and shame washes over him in almost suffocating wave.

He sighs and declines the call. It’s not the first time he does it. Hopefully, his mother understands.

She doesn’t call him again.

And so, Elliott spends several minutes after that aimlessly walking over his flat, from the bathroom to the kitchen, simply opening the fridge only to close it again. He feels restless and tries to listen to some songs in his earpieces but when they don’t manage to stop his mind from thinking about a particular Apex game as the songs usually do, he takes them out. He can feel an itch in his lower belly, the anxiety of being alone even though it’s something he wanted to in the first place.

After some time, he gives up changes his clothes into something more casual and heads outside. It’s not too late but he is sure there will be some bars open at this time.

He likes one only at the end of the block called Atomic Liquors. Everyone knows him there - the bar where the Apax Legends Mirage likes to hang out in. Many times, he’s went there just for the ego boost, so he didn’t feel that bad about himself.

Today, Elliott feels different. He seeks the peace of being alone but also the needs to be somewhere where it’s lively. He walks two blocks to another bar. It’s not as filled with people as Elliott’s favorite but it will do for now.

At least it means that he can find himself a corner where he will be able to drink his whiskey quietly until he is drunk enough to go and try to flirt with people until he gets ultimately rejected.

He makes his way through the bar, passing old fashioned wooden tables and people chatting and laughing and generally having a good time. Waitress comes to him soon enough, he makes an order. Then, he just sulks, enjoying the way the whiskey burns as it travels down his throat into his stomach.

It doesn’t help much but at least like this, he can watch other people getting wasted uselessly and see for himself that he is not that bad.

Somehow, however, even after fourth shot, his dark thoughts are not drowned in the alcohol. He feels, undeniably, down, so much that even a look at a very pretty blonde, alone at the bar. He can feel the alcohol getting into brain, feeling tired and kinda fuzzy.

He doesn’t notice a person approaching him until they sit down next to him.

Bloodhound looks only slightly different than they do in the arena - most of their gear is gone, the heavy backpack on their bag or the gun slipped into the holster by their side. Their mask is still in place and so is their hat. And they still look intimidating.

For a second, Elliott doesn’t even believe the Hound is  _ actually  _ there and he stares at them. He blinks, once, twice and when they are still there he puts down his, now empty, glass.

They don’t say anything which doesn’t make the situation any less shocking and weird. The bar is full of sounds, yet their little booth in the corner is filled with silence. And Elliott can’t stand the silence. Several options about what to say rush through his mind and he can’t pick up one from another. Eventually, his mouth runs wild.

"How do you drink with that thing on?" he asks dumbly.

Bloodhound stares at him. Their mask is making Elliott feeling naked.

"There is a thing called a straw."

Elliott blinks again. Once, twice. He is sure they just told him a joke but he is also not sure they just told him a joke.

He gulps, the hand on the empty glass twitching and he wishes he had left some because that would give him an opportunity to excuse his silence. Instead, he just stares and starts babbling again, Bloodhound’s look still burning him even though he can’t see their eyes. "So, um, you come here often?"

For a second, nothing happens. Then, they lazily lean backwards. "This place is good. It is not very popular and most people here do not care for the games. It’s perfect to drink in honor for my victory."

"I-I suppose," Elliott admits chuckling. "I always celebrate my victories at bars as well though, usually, I don’t stop at just one drink. Or when I lose, it’s just a good way to finish a day with a game."

He feels the burn of shame again, still seated at the bottom of his belly.

Another moment of silence. "Would you accept if I treated you a drink?"

Elliott gulps and narrows his eyes. "Why?"

He is sure they noticed the way his voice turned defensive, yet they speak in calm, somehow soothing voice: "I mean no offence, simply to celebrate the good fight we’ve both put into the battle today."

It’s the same voice they used when they finished him in the arena with a blade.

Elliott considers himself to be a simple man deep inside. He is drunk enough to acknowledge that the way Bloodhound moved inside the arena, was as intimidating as it was attractive to him. Fast, precise and deadly. And even now, without the gear, they were so damn  _ big _ .

They are still looking at him, expecting an answer. Shit, shit, shit! Say something smart!

"Sure, that would be court… cart… nice of you!" he curses himself internally right after he finishes his stuttering - did it have to happen right now? Not only is this the person who beated him and his entire team earlier today but someone actually hot.

"Will it be another whiskey?" Bloodhound asks, already looking around for a waitress.

Elliott laughs nervously. "A bit of a stalker, aren’t you?" He dashes them a smile so they know he is joking.

It’s hard to read Bloodhound when he can’t see their expression. Fortunately, when they speak, it’s with a hint of amusement in their voice: "Well, I am a hunter, aren’t I?"

Elliott, too glad that they replied in the tone, finds his belly to also warming up, the shame slowly melting away. And so, he continues: "Yeah, and, well, you are. Like, seriously, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone move like you. In one moment, we were all alright and then boom, Pathfinder is down, boom, you are there. Like, good job at wrecking us."

They chuckle. They fucking chuckle and Elliott feels more of the cold shame giving away to the excited feeling.

"Your compliment is appreciated," they tilt their head. "You yourself are a worthy opponent. You fooled me with one of your decoys which is not a simple task, Mirage."

Elliott closes his eyes and shivers at the praise, blaming it all on the drink. "Please, you can call me Elliott," he extends his hand. "Elliott Witt."

"You can call me Blóðhundur," they say, their accent thick on the last word, sending a pleasant shiver down Elliott’s spine.

Still, the trickster stares at the hunter and laughs shortly. "Yeah, there’s no way I’ll be able to say that."

He also knows that it’s still not 

Once again, there is amusement in Bloodhound’s voice for a short moment, Elliott feels embarrassed, then he realizes there is not a track of mockery in it. That makes him smile dumbly.

"You may call me Hound, it is fine," they tell him before they turn to the waitress who just walked to them, ordering whiskey for Elliott and cognac for themselves.

The trickster isn’t angry that they didn’t tell him their real name. There is a certain amount of mystery around them and he supposes they don’t like to share much, especially to someone they don’t even know.

Thinking about Bloodhound and their cryptic ways pops another thought to Elliott’s tipsy brain. "Where is your bird?"

"She is nearby," Hound says. "She always is."

Elliott smiles and without thinking, he says: "It’s cute."

Hound stares at him and for a second, he worries that what he said might be somehow insulting. Then, they say: "Thank you."

Elliott laughs again but his sudden nervousness is seeping into the sound. He wants to cover it, quickly. "You know, I’d never guessed you for someone to walk into a ba...ba… place like this."

"I came here today to have a drink that is true," Hound says and then pauses as the waitress puts down their drinks. "But after I noticed you are here as well, sitting alone, I decided it would be better to join you if you will. After all, our first encounter wasn’t exactly pleasant."

Elliott laughs. "Don’t worry about it, it was nice."

He quickly realizes what he just said and tries to correct himself before Hound can think he is a weirdo. "I-I mean, it wasn’t nice but you know how the games go. It’s fine, I would do the same to you. Or not the same. Just…" Elliott pauses his babbling, all too aware that he probably just made everything worse, thinking what to say to save this conversation from his awkwardness.

However, before he can say anything else - and probably make everything even worse - Hound says. "Do not worry, Elliott, I think I understand. If I am being honest, I, too, enjoyed the hunt."

It should be scary, considering their words and who speaks them, but it’s hard to be scared when they sound so calm and soothing. Also, when they wrap their fingers around their glass, Elliott can’t help but stare, thinking how good those fingers would feel on him."

"Shit, I think I had too much drink," he half laughs, half croaks nervously.

Hound chuckles again - it’s a soft, gentle sound. "I will not force you to finish the drink of course, but do please let me finish mine before I walk you home."

Elliott lets out a shaky breath. He doesn’t think about gender much when he chooses his partners, though he always tries to be a gentleman and do all the gentlemanly things to whoever he was with. It’s been a long time since it was the other way around and even though he doesn’t need looking after (or at least thinks he doesn’t) and this might just be Hound being friendly, it made happiness glowing inside him.

He doesn’t want it to be over.

"I mean I barely started, I definitely want to finish this drink. And other drinks. We can continue."

To prove his point, Elliott grabs his glass and clinks his glass against Bloodhounds. He raises it to his mouth and for a moment, stares expectively at Hound. Eventually, they just shake their head and tilt their brandy up.

It makes Elliott smile despite their words: "We can finish this drink but I would advise you to go home after that. Perhaps next time, we can start at the same time instead of you being ahead."

Or maybe Elliott smiles because of Hound’s words. After all, they are hinting that there could be a next time of them drinking together.

"I would love that," escapes his mouth and it sounds undeniably, embarrassingly smitten to even his ears and drunken brain and he quickly drinks the whiskey to shut himself up. It burns pleasantly as it makes its way down his throat.

If Hound minds the words Elliott spoken, they don’t show it. Instead, they follow the man’s example and take a sip from  their cognac. Watching Bloodhound, drinking alcohol from fancy glass with a pink straw makes Elliott giggle.

"You know, that looks actually ridiculous," he tells them honestly.

Hound’s voice isn’t offended when they speak: "So I’ve heard."

Elliott frowns and looks at them intensively. Even without any visible weapons, they are intimidating – big and tall, even though now that he thinks about it, they are slightly shorter than he is, their back straight and shoulders wide. Everything about Hound vibrates healthy confidence and enough danger for everyone to stay out of their way. Their mask is just a crown on the top of their looks.

He shivers again, gulping helplessly as he looks away, but it’s not out of fear.

"How come nobody recognizes you here?" he asks, the words already coming out of his mouth, babbling as he’s trying to drown the feeling of want in them. "You won a game today, why isn’t anyone coming to us like… jumping over your lap? You are extra... exto… hard to miss."

"It’s the merchandising, the popularity is shining onto me and many people obtain my mask," Hound explains calmly. "Usually, when they see me, they think me nothing but another fan."

When Elliott first saw Bloodhound, he assumed the same thing many of others did – that they were ruthless. They were and still are a beast in arena, one you should always watch out for, someone who will make you suffer in the same way Caustic is.

But, even in their hunt, they are never cruel. Their strikes are precise, meant not to cause any pain that isn’t necessary, for the prey to fall quickly.

Elliott himself fell so fast and hard he didn’t even notice how much until now.

He knows since Bloodhound got him in the arena, he found them attractive. Still, when the sudden want hits him and spreads through his chest into his limbs, he almost aches with it. He wonders if Hound sees it – the way he rubs his hand on his thigh to remove the sweat, the way his breathing quickens and his eyes dart away from them.

They simply watch, their back still straight, fingers of one hand wrapped around their glass. Elliott remembers the feeling of their fingers on the back of his neck.

He quickly drinks the rest of his glass.

"You’re right," he admits when he finishes the drink. "I think I had enough of drink for today."

Bloodhound’s shoulders slightly relax from their usual straight posture and Elliott knows they are smiling.

"I am glad you see reason," they say and finish their own drink. Somehow, they manage not to slurp even though their glass is empty when they put it on the table.

"Let me walk you home," they offer again, already standing up.

Elliott follows their lead. He feels just slightly dizzy and his limbs are heavy but he still manages to walk to the bar on his own. When he tries to pay for his drinks, the bartender lets him know that it’s already been paid by his companion.

When he stares at Hound, they don’t look sorry or embarrassed at the slightest. The trickster doesn’t complain but he doesn’t manage to fight the small smile growing on his face either. It’s been so long since someone treated him like this.

The air is already cold outside, the sun is down and the street are busy with the nightlife. Nobody pays them any attention as the two Apex players pass them. Sometimes, Elliott stumbles slightly but he always manages to keep his balance. There is a silence between them but it’s different than before. Elliott didn’t get to feel comfortable in silence with anyone except for his mom.

Eventually, Elliott says partially lost in his thought: "You’re different than I’ve heard, you know. Less scary and more comfy."

"I do not understand what you mean by ‚comfy,‘" Hound says, still sounding amused.

"You know, like, cool, easy to be with," Elliott babbles quickly.

"You on the other hand are how I expected you to be. At least partially. Quite troublemaker."

Elliott laughs. "Trust me, trouble could be my second name. It’s also what makes me charming."

Hound chuckles again. "That you are, Elliott Witt. That about you reminds me of Loki."

"Who’s Loki?"

"Someone who couldn’t stay out of trouble," Hound explains without any real explanation.

Perhaps it’s the light tone of the conversation or Bloodhound’s, so far, accepting behaviour. Either way, Elliott turns around, walking backwards. Hound’s attention is immediately on him. He smirks and says in seductive purr: "Maybe I do like trouble."

For several seconds, they just continue to walk like this. Bloodhound is staring at him, no pause in their steps and Elliott walks backwards, searching for reaction. He thinks that maybe he crossed the line and Bloodhound has finally had enough with him.

The thought is enough for him to stop thinking about where he’s going and he feels something hit the back of his ankle. A distressed sound escapes his throat as he feels himself losing the balance but he never falls.

Instead, Hound’s arm moves so fast Elliott can’t almost see it. They grab him by his shirt and hold him still.

Elliott immediately feels his cheeks heating up. He knows he should thank them as they effortlessly pull him up until he’s standing on his (shaking) legs. Instead, he just looks at them.

"I think you do," Hound tells him with strange tone in their voice, one that makes Elliott gulp and his hands sweaty. "I will look forward to our next encounter, Mirage."

They let go of Elliott’s shirt, slowly and carefully in a way that’s not awkward or rejecting. Elliott dares to say it stays on his shirt for a second longer than it needs to be.

"The pleasure will be all mine," he tells them.


End file.
